Listen, I’ve been thinking.  If we’re going to work together, then we need to have absolute trust between us.  There can’t be any lies.

So, uh… speaking of that: I haven’t been a hundred percent straight with you.  There’s a few things I need to confess.

Cordelia’s Confessions

Confession One: I lied just now.  Spaghetti sauce totally stains.  Your shirt is done for.

(It’s okay though, ‘cause you looked kind of stupid in that shirt to begin with.  So, if you think about it, I kinda did you a favor by ruining it, right?)

            Confession Two: Okay, that’s not true either.  You looked awesome in that shirt.  I’m sorry it’s trashed.

(For what it’s worth, though, you look great in all shirts.  You really know how to wear clothes, kid.  You ever consider being a professional clothes-wearer when you grow up?)

            Confession Three: Remember that doodle of a rabbit and a hare I drew back on page three, to illustrate my awesome joke?  Well, that was a lie, too.  They were both rabbits.  I don’t know how to draw hares.

            Confession Four: I can hear you, even though I’m stuck in here – I was lying about that, too.  But nobody can hear or see me.  I’m using the pages you’re holding to talk to you, ‘cause nothing gets through.  Don’t ask how it all works; it’s all just part of the curse.  Let’s just say I broke something pretty massive when I first arrived at your school, and it’s going to take the heist of all heists to put things right.

Speaking of which, how’s that spaghetti sauce doing?  Forehead getting a little crusty?  Garlic bits stuck in your ears?  Hair smell like an Italian restaurant garbage can?  That means it’s time to put the next part into action.

Cordelia’s Amazing Heist Plan (continued)

Step Five: Put the empty spaghetti bowl on your head.

Wanna know something funny, kid?  Look around the cafeteria.  Even though you just poured an entire bowl of food over yourself, nobody’s staring.  Nobody’s pointing and laughing.  In fact, no one even noticed you did that.  It’s like you’re not even here.

I’ll prove it!  Stand up.  Wave your hands above your head.  Jump up and down on one leg.  See?  Nothing! (Other than making the floor really messy.)

You wanna know why nobody’s looking?  It’s simple.  With that bowl on your head, you’re under cover.  Students can’t get into the teacher’s lounge, right?  Well, we’ve solved that problem.  Now you’re not a student.  You’re an in-pasta.

And that’s it, really.  Now you know the secret to my whole heist.  To pull this off, you just gotta use your noodle.

To be more specific, we’re gonna do it all with puns.

See, if you use them right, puns are a type of magic, and I’ve been practicing since I was tiny.  It’s the closest I ever got to real pixie stuff before Mom went away.  I mean, I’m only half-pixie, so I could never do any of the real stuff she could – turning into a squirrel; making hummingbirds fly out people’s ears – but pun magic always worked out okay for me.  Dad called it “paranomasia.”  They say puns are the lowest form of humor, but I always felt they were the most powerful force in the universe, because they let a thing be true in two completely different ways at the same time.

And that’s how we’re gonna do our heist!  Think of that awesome joke I told you up in the library, about dollar bills being green.  Paronomasia works a lot like that.  You’re moving along in one direction, then, POW!  You hit a pun, and you’re somewhere else entirely.  They’re perfect for plots, schemes, and capers of all kinds.  After all, some places may be impenetrable, but nothing is im-pun-etrable!

Hey, speaking of being somewhere else entirely, let’s get rolling.  It’s time to break into the teachers’ lounge. Wipe that meat sauce out of your eyes, clear up your tray, and meet me back outside the cafeteria.

By the way, you don’t believe me about any of this, do you?  I can tell from your frown.  (Or maybe you just got a piece of onion stuck in your eye.)  Don’t worry, kid.  I get it.  I bet the idea of making magic with puns is like the cafeteria’s garlic bread – it sounds nice, but it’s hard to swallow.  Just give me a chance to show you how it works, and I promise you’ll be blown away.  You’re gonna love this, kid!

***

Okay.  So, I’ve spent a lot of time wandering around these school halls.  In heist talk, that’s called “casing the joint.”  I know where everything is, and I think I’ve found a secret way that can help us.  Go down your right-side hallway, then turn left.

Turn right now.

Right again, then left.

Don’t worry about the way you smell.  Nobody notices but you.  None of the kids you’re passing have even looked up.

There it is!  Right there.  See that empty patch of wall between those two rows of lockers?  The teachers’ lounge should just on the other side of that wall.  Ready?  Here’s what you need to do:

Cordelia’s Continuing Heist Plan

Step Six: Stare at the wall.

That’s it.  Easy peasy, right?  It’s a big wall, though, so let’s take it in pieces.

First, stare at the top right corner.  Very white and plastery.  Do you think there are real bricks behind the plaster?  Or did they just make a plain wall and add grooves to make a brick pattern on top?

Now let’s check the top left.  It’s a lot like the top right, except there’s a spider web.  Don’t lose focus, kid.  Moving on.

Bottom left.  More white wall, covered in smudgy handprints.  I bet they repaint this wall after every school year?  That would explain why it looks so gloopy.

Bottom right.  More smudges, and an empty plastic wrapper on the ground.  Not cool, whoever put that there.

All right.  Now let’s take a step back and put it all together.  You’ve examined each of the pieces.  Now, see the whole.

Do you see it?  Awesome!  ‘Cause now that you see the hole, you can just walk through it!

Step, step, step, and we’re in.  That, my friend, is how you break into the teacher’s lounge.  Our first objective is in the supply closet over there on the left.

Hold on.  We’ll go there in a second.  But first, kid, have you still got that spaghetti bowl on your head?  Take it off for a minute.  Hold it in your hands.  Slide your fingers across the orange, grease-stained ceramic.

Do you see any noodles in that bowl, kid?  Of course not.  They’re all on your head.  That’s just the way it should be, and I’ll tell you why:  

Cordelia’s First Life Lesson

Stick with Coordelia Soong, kid, and nothing is in-pasta-bowl.